


To Sing a Swan Song

by ArchangelAzrael



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Episode: s05e04 The End, Falling Castiel, Hurt Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2014-07-26
Packaged: 2018-02-10 13:22:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2026650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArchangelAzrael/pseuds/ArchangelAzrael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Contrary to popular belief, the angel Castiel did not fall when the end of times was upon him.</p><p> </p><p>He leaped.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Sing a Swan Song

**Author's Note:**

> I might add more chapters if you guys like it or if inspiration hits, but for now it's just a oneshot. Hope you enjoy! 
> 
> Hugs and kisses to all you glorious geeks and victorious freaks. :)

The first thing that you feel is a burning sensation. The nerves of your spine tingle with what can only be described as fire. But it’s not a normal fire; supernatural, some might say. It makes your muscles feel like hot coals and the blood cells pumping through your veins burst under the severe heat of lava. Your outward appearance doesn’t change though, so only you and your siblings can see the flames licking at your bone marrow and the back of your ancient eye sockets. You vaguely recall writhing on the unnaturally white floor, begging for relief in the form of death, but not being granted that final request as thousands of eyes stare at you impassively. You bend at awkward angles, reaching your hands out and grasping nothing. Smoke clouds your unlimited vision. The fire is consuming you! It’s eating you from the inside! Painful tears slide down your cheeks and you will them to stop because every time the salty liquid escaped, it felt as if acid were being poured upon the once delicate features of your face.

                You scream at your brothers and sisters of millennia as the heated tendrils begin to spread to your feathers, but it comes out as barely a panicked gasp. You arch your back and screech, flailing your arms trying to halt the assault but to no avail.Your wings are being lit in a miserable fire and you cover your cerulean pupils from the harsh, holy light because you know that this is the end. When you were first brought into existence, your down feathers consisted of dark grays and blues that were rare, but not unheard of among your species. Your older brother, Gabriel, had more wings than you that were larger and shone bronze wherever he flew. Your late sister, Anael, had a mix of burgundy, various shades of red, and a touch of silver. Of course, no one could possibly compare to Michael, who was the oldest, and the only angel to have wings of gold. This labeled him as unique, although he could never compare to his younger brother, Lucifer, who was the brightest and most beautiful with his silver titanium wings. You had never been extraordinary, but when you became the first of your kind to raise the Righteous Man from the pits of perdition, and scorch your wings black with hellfire in the process, suddenly you are noticeable. Suddenly you are significant to the cause. Suddenly, you are of a higher rank than your superior, Uriel, and your comrade, Balthazar. You are a representative for angels, a role model, what they should aspire to become.

But then you meet the man you saved, and the rest of that nonsense burns…

Along with you.

                That is what you’re doing now, right? Burning? Trembling under the pressure of thousands of graces pummeling and consuming you until there is only a skeletal form of what you had formerly been left in the aftermath? Your wings are no longer flittering about, but you feel as if they’re still there, haunting you. You could have sworn that you felt one of your feathers brush against your fingers as you cowered in your meager existence, but maybe that is just how an amputee feels. That is what you are now, right? An amputee? A wingless, weeping angel? A mortal that is no longer in the correct plain of existence.

                The pain has stopped. You dare to open your eyes and look up. Your brother stands before you, standing rigid like the others, but with more sympathy in his eyes. _Balthazar._ He’s attempting to look bored with the whole event, but his stoic expression twitches in a grimace for a moment so brief that a human would have missed it in a blink.

                “You have no family now,” he says. Only you can hear the unsaid “brother” that he usually placed at the end of his sentences when speaking to you. You know you have lost him now, but you take the time to correct him.

                “You are wrong, brother,” you say, almost not adding that last word as you push yourself off the ground. You look him in the eyes; his are confused and full of grief while yours contain newfound strength. “I have just found a better one.”

                With that final message, you jump in a final act of defiance instead of being pushed into your fall. It’s more of an emotional journey rather than a physical one that everyone associates falling with. You should be on Earth in a matter of minutes, but this is not what occupies your mind. You have a family now, and you are correct to assume that it is a better one. You have Gabriel. Hell, you even have Chuck if he agrees. You have Robert Singer. You have Sam. You have Dean. You have always had Dean Winchester.

A former angel leaps from Heaven and falls toward Earth with invisible wings of scorched black feathers and a midnight blue that no other angel had ever had or would have again. The gates close behind him, and for Castiel, it is a beginning. Dean is there to catch him when he falls, and give him a kiss or two to ease the emotional suffering that he had to endure. For now, with this recent adjustment, it is a new beginning.

It is slightly unfortunate that it was the beginning of the end.


End file.
